Of Apprenticeships and Antitheses
by Linxcat
Summary: A biography, of sorts. "Hush, Bastian," she breathed, "Madam is here. And one day, I shall teach you to become truly great."
1. PROLOGUE

A crash of thunder echoed across the night sky. Lightning forked, lighting up the dark rolling clouds. A woman's scream reverberated around the lofty castle, entering through the latticed window panes of the small village below. Small children stirred in their sleep. Adults kissed their amulets, though out of habit more than fear.

That sort of thing tended to happen a lot in Uberwald.

-x-x-x-

High up in the castle, Ladyship and Igor stood side by side next to an ornate bassinet, watching the small baby as he slept.

"What will happen to the child, Mithtreth?"

Lady Margolotta watched the tiny chest lift up and down with every breath, and smiled thoughtfully, "Well, we can't very well send him to his father, can we?"

"Exthactly, Mithtreth."

"No, I think he shall stay here," she traced a finger absently around the rim of the crib, "He will have the finest education, and one day he shall grow up to be very valuable indeed."

"Of courthe, Mithtreth."

The baby shifted and sighed in his sleep. A corner of Ladyship's mouth curled.

"Bastian von Blintz." She called to the night sky; lightning forked, thunder crashed and a lone wolf howled. A thin mist began to ooze under the windowpane. Igor applauded.

"Exthellent, Mithtreth!"

"Yes, yes," she waved a hand dismissively, "Shut the window, would you? It's freezing."

Igor hobbled to the window and closed it, then his mismatched gaze fell on the figure on the bed.

"And what thall I..?"

Margolotta turned and surveyed the body; a young woman with raven hair, shrivelled and sallow-cheeked, curled in the foetal position. She sighed.

"So unfortunate." she murmured, then, "Put Madam von Blintz in the best coffin - the one with the crimson lining and the engraving on the sides - and send her home. I daresay she would rather rest in Blintz than Bonk."

"Of courthe, Mithtreth."

As Igor slipped away, a small cry came from the depths of the bassinet. Margolotta bent over it and lifted the child, bouncing him carefully in her arms.

"Hush, Bastian," she breathed, "Madam is here. And one day, I shall teach you to become truly _great_."

-x-x-x-

The clouds lifted, leaving a thick mist coating the ground. The sun crawled over the horizon, lighting the miles and miles of uncharted forest, mountains, winding country roads and tiny villages, with the occasional castle towering over them.

At closer inspection, a small carriage could be seen racing down one such road away from a village with a castle, and on even closer inspection, it could be identified as a hearse.

As the morning dawned, a child's cry split the air. Small children pulled pillows over their heads. Adults cursed sleepily and fumbled for their amulets.

That sort of thing tended to happen a lot in Uberwald.


	2. Chapter One

"My Lord? I believe that you may be interested in this."

Lord Vetinari set down his pen and picked up the neat file that his clerk had just placed on the desk, flipping it open and scanning at the first page. He frowned almost imperceptibly, "Drumknott?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Please arrange for master-" Vetinari glanced back down at the page, "Master von Blintz to be made aware of his appointment this afternoon."

It took less than a second for Drumknott to catch on, "Of course, my Lord."

Drumknott closed the door behind him.

Vetinari studied the file for a few moments, then steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them; Margolotta. She was knuckle-down in every available pastry confectionary from Genua to the Counterweight Continent, even if the owners hadn't realised it yet. Oh, he'd heard of Master von Blintz before - several years before. He was an experiment of Ladyship's, sent to the Assassin's Guild for a few years of 'education'. He was the first - or, at least, the first recorded - of his kind; a vampire that had never tasted blood, b-totalled from birth.

There still had to be precautions taken, of course, as Lord Downey had the safety of his students to consider. Bastian had been politely warned that, as bloodsucking was not _elegant_, he was to avoid, at all costs, situations that would produce any…temptations in that area.

And so Vetinari kept tabs on the boy, and up until this point had heard nothing of note. Well, certainly of note for any normal pupil, but a vampire who'd been trained under Lady Margolotta these last twenty-something years? He would have been surprised if Bastian had scored anything below excellent marks in all that he did. He had not disappointed, of course, and was due to take his final exam sometime in the next few weeks.

And yet…

The Patrician lifted the file and read through it again.

_Hmmm_.

Lord Havelock Vetinari was not a paranoid man; knowing exactly who was out to get you, how they were planning to do it and when they were going to attempt it did not make you paranoid, it made you well-informed. He recognised someone trying to keep under the radar - Bastian scored in moderation, making sure to always come second or third (though never lower than that, he noticed).

He also recognised someone intending to get his attention. He'd always watched the Stealth Chess scores, as a matter of personal interest, and no one had ever made it within thirty seconds of his record.

Until that morning.

Bastian von Blintz, it said on his file, had played the Guild's current champion in a 'friendly' game, and had won in a time exactly twenty seconds away from the record. Twenty seconds exactly, down to the _millisecond_. It was erratic in his pattern of so-average-it-was-suspicious behaviour, and through this he was informing the Patrician that he had his own agenda in these events. Whether or not he was following orders from Margolotta was another matter.

Ten minutes later, Drumknott's trademark velvet double knock sounded, before he oiled in.

"Master Bastian von Blintz, sir."

Bastian von Blintz was tall and lithely built, with dark hair that fell in a fashionably youthful choppy cut, and although he was not yet qualified to dress in Assassin's Black, he had risen high enough in the ranks of the guild to no longer have to wear the awful uniform. His mouth was thin and bow-shaped, his cheekbones high and his eyes were startling crimson.

"Good afternoon, Master Blintz."

"Good afternoon, your Lordship." the vampire bowed respectfully

"Have you read the _Times_ today, Master Blintz?" Vetinari asked quite calmly, gesturing to the paper on his desk.

"I have taken a copy every morning but this, I am afraid, my Lord."

"Then please, take my copy," he passed it over the desk, "And please, take a seat."

The young vampire perched on a nearby chair and lifted the morning's paper for inspection for a few seconds, before lowering it momentarily, "Is there something in particular I should be looking for, my Lord?"

"I would like you to read page three, and tell me if you find anything of note."

It took the young man less than half a minute to read the articles, "There is very little of interest, unless inflation should affect the prawn market prices, in which case it would be of note for those with fingers in that particular pie, if you will excuse the colloquialism."

Vetinari studied Bastian's face as he neatly folded the paper.

"Interesting." he paused, "Tell me, Master von Blintz - do you play Thud?"

"I'm afraid I do not, sir."

"A pity indeed. I would advise a young man of your talents to give it a try." he steepled his fingers, "Now, I understand you have your final exam to prepare for, and I will not detain you further. Good afternoon, Master von Blintz. Do present my fondest regards to your benefactress."

Bastian bowed, then turned to leave. "Good afternoon, my Lord."

He left with a flourish and a smirk. It was a smirk that Vetinari knew of old.


	3. Chapter Two

"Madam?" rounded cheeks were propped up on small fists. The boy peered over the back of the large chair at the woman immersed in a large volume, rolling his eyes impatiently as she raised a finger to indicate he should wait until she had finished the line she was reading.

"Yes, Bastian?" she asked calmly after what seemed like an age, turning to smile at him.

"Tell me about my parents?"

Ladyship's eyebrow quirked. Bastian rallied his courage.

"That is to say, I mean, would it be possible for you to relate to me the story of how I came to be in your charge, at this present time, or a future moment of your choice, where it would be convenient for you to disclose such information to me?"

Ladyship laughed, slipping a bookmark into the large tome and placing it on a coffee table. She patted the armchair beside her, and he sat.

"Why the sudden curiosity? You have never been interested before."

Bastian shrugged, "You have always told me it is important to acquire knowledge, and I wish to know for personal reasons. Unless of course, _you_ are my biological mother, in which case I would only need to know the identity of my father."

"I see." Margolotta leant back in the chair, "And for what purpose would you want his identity?"

"To contact him."

"By gods, child, whatever for?"

"To know his side of the story, of course." the boy gestured earnestly with a fist, "One cannot truly understand an event, or indeed, themselves, without every viewpoint!" he quickly remembered himself and reeled in his enthusiasm, "And for personal reasons too; I hope to establish a positive and affectionate relationship."

"Well, that is certainly a very good and thought-out reason." she smiled warmly at him, amused, "And it deserves the desired answer. I am sorry to say that I am not your mother; her name was Annette von Blintz, she was a vampire and a very good friend of mine. However, she made the mistake of underestimating the humans of Blintz, and overestimating the safety of her castle." she sighed, "The only reason you survived was because no one was aware that you _existed_ - Igor was the only one who knew, and he found you when he went back for his last few experiments. As a close friend of your mother and without children myself, I volunteered to take you in. Nothing is known about your father other than that he was - or still is - human. It may even been he who began the revolt against her in the first place."

Bastian was silent for a few moments. Ladyship folded her arms.

"You are disappointed?"

"A little."

"Well then; you are not yet ready to hear the truth."

Ladyship stood and made her way towards the door. Bastian's mouth snapped shut and he ran after her. "Madam! Then that is not the true story behind my parents' demise?"

"It is not." she turned to him, "And I shall not relate it to you until you are ready to receive it without judgement."

"But - but - _Madam_-"

Margolotta's facial expression barely changed, though somehow the room temperature dropped a few dozen degrees, "Bastian," she said quietly, "What have I told you about whining? Arguments, if they have a valid driving force and are not just for the sake of being irritable, are acceptable and encouraged, but I will not have you _whining_. Is that understood?"

The ten year old set his jaw petulantly but still responded, "Yes, Madam."

"Good." her face relaxed into what could be considered a wry smile, "This is one of the very few occasions that I will simply ask you to trust that I know best. I know it is hypocritical, but I promise I shall provide you with good reason to. Do you trust me, Bastian?"

Bastian studied the face of his benefactress for a few moments.

"I trust that you would not withhold this information from me as a deliberate attempt to harm me." he said finally.

"Well put." she smiled again, then glanced at the vast old grandfather clock at the other end of the room, "And now, time for bed I think. It will be midday in a few hours, and you were up well past sunrise yesterday, so I want you in your coffin before half past nine."

"Do you have a meeting now?"

"Yes, I do, with the doggies, and it will be so dreadfully boring." she leant forward and pulled a face in a conspiratorial manner, "I was hoping for an early turn-in today. Never mind."

Emboldened by Ladyship's uncharacteristic light-heartedness, Bastian sucked in his cheeks and pulled himself up to his full height in a rather exaggerated impression of her, "_Do_ pat the Baron on the head for me, my Lady."

"Impertinent boy!" she scolded playfully, "Bedtime now. Go."

As the young vampire ran, grinning, from the room, Lady Margolotta chuckled to herself and allowed herself a brief moment of bathing in the warm glow of affection.

She was rather attached to this dear one.


	4. Chapter Three

Lady Margolotta gave the contents of her suitcase another once-over, then waved a hand in the direction of the lid. The trunk obediently snapped shut - or attempted to, at least, but even with the ability to fit clothing into the smallest imaginable spaces, that somehow was only given to women of a certain age and disposition, fitting over two months' worth of day dresses and evening dresses and night dresses and petticoats and corsets and shoes into one trunk was pushing it.

She sighed. She had been alive for long enough to know that there was only one solution to this kind of problem; sitting or jumping on the trunk to close the lid by force. Thankfully, Igor's knock sounded on the door first.

"Potht for you, Mithtreth." he passed her the small bundle, "I took the liberty of removing the advertithmentth and billth, ath we were running low on kindling."

"Ah, very good, Igor." she gave him a smile before flicking absently through the letters that were left.

"Mith Healthtether ith packed and downthtairth having breakfatht, Mithtreth, and the coach ith prepared for whenever you are ready to leave."

"Thank you, Igor. You wouldn't mind closing my trunk, would you?" she waved a hand vaguely behind her towards the overflowing case, "Only you're always so efficient at packing."

"Of courthe, Mithtreth."

"Thank you, Igor." Margolotta spied a letter addressed in familiar handwriting and pulled a knife from her sleeve, slicing it open eagerly. It was written in code, of course, and she decoded it in pink pencil over breakfast.

-x-x-x-

_Madam,_

_I apologise that it has been so long since I last wrote you, but there is a lot of preparation required for my final exam - especially with my 'specialised handicaps', which I am taking to mean holy water and pointy sticks at every opportunity - so I have been very busy indeed. Otto has been a considerable help in this particular area, as I have been informed that as of the exam, even if it is not permanent, being dead for more than a few seconds is a fail. We have worked together on practical solutions for this problem and have found several that are particularly effective; I hope that I will have the pleasure of your company soon, that I may demonstrate them to you, as we believe they could be of some use to the other members of the League. _

_I assume that you are aware that I attained an audience with his Lordship some time ago. If you were aware of this, you know the method I used, and are probably reading into it with excitement, as you always did love a good conspiracy. However, I must assure you, to what I am sure will be your disappointment, that I have no sinister motives in contacting Lord Vetinari. I am purely interested in the pursuit of knowledge and experience, and as you always commended him as your very greatest teacher, I wish to learn from him also._

_He has consented to take me on as an apprentice, of sorts, along with a few other promising young men from the guilds, and we will be observing meetings in a secretarial manner as a sort of 'work experience'. I have no interest in becoming a clerk or a secretary, but I am taking the experience as a learning curve and hope to glean as much from it as I can, which is, I know, an attitude that you will approve of._

_I am still a member of the Edificeering Society with Barsnby and Fettleworth, as well as the Stealth Chess group. I have, of course, allowed Maxwell to thoroughly trounce me enough times for him to feel justified in bemoaning to his peers that my success was a mere fluke, and so the fickle crowd has turned back and I am forgotten. On that subject, I must ask for your aid; would you help me procure a Thud set? I have fond memories of watching you puzzle out long games, and wish to try my hand at it. Perhaps, one day, I will gain sufficient skill to challenge even you! I look forward to the day._

_I have spoken to Sally on the subject that you broached in your last letter, and she believes that Vimes is ready, but will definitely need a push in the right direction when the time comes. She also entreats - and I agree fully - that you intercede on our behalf, as the cocoa was never much good anyway, but now Madam Piermont has started using goats' milk and quite frankly…well. You know what I mean._

_I hope Miss Healstether, Igor and yourself are well; please tell Mina that I have almost finished the book, and would be very grateful if she could bring the rest of Herr Doktor's work on the next visit. Lord Vetinari also sends his regards, and hopes your next political trip will be soon._

_Take that as you will. I have no intention of getting involved in your politics…_

_Best wishes,_

_Yours,_

_Bastian_

_P.S. I believe Mr Lipwig is competing good-naturedly with the Dearhearts over prices of the Post vs. the Clacks, and I am constantly having to switch between them to get the best deal. Letters are easier and generally cheaper, so I will be sticking with them from now on, even if they do take a little longer._

-x-x-x-

Lady Margolotta read the letter through a second time, then smiled.

"Mina, have you packed any of Herr Doktor's work?"

Miss Healstether glanced up in surprise over her boiled egg, "Bastian has finished the first one already? He was always a fast reader! I have the next three in my trunk, yes; I hoped to get some light reading in on the journey."

"Good idea." Margolotta sipped from her wine glass, "Apparently Havelock is quite looking forward to having us." she added conversationally.

"Oh." said Mina, wary of any statement from Ladyship that seemed like it came out of left field, "Um…jolly good."

"I'm sure that-"

"I know where this is going! I don't want you make any little _comments_ about Rufus!" Miss Healstether erupted, cheeks reddened and fists clenched.

Margolotta pinched her lips together to suppress a grin, "I had no intentions of making any 'little comments' about the very…eligible Mr Drumknott." The librarian's expression clearly read 'yeah, right, pull the other one', but she said nothing, "I was simply going to say that I am sure that this trip will be exceedingly diverting."

"I'm sure it will be." Mina said primly. Margolotta hid a laugh behind her glass, then finished her breakfast.

"Igor?"

"Yeth, Mithtreth?"

"Let's head out."


	5. Chapter Four

"Ah, Lady Margolotta! How vunderful to finally meet you."

The slightly overweight, distinctly sweaty aristocrat stretched out a hand and beamed. To her credit, Ladyship didn't even flinch as the chubby fingers eagerly enveloped hers and the perspiration-clad palm squelched against her cool skin, before his lips alighted on it. She made sure to smile politely.

"My _dear_ Lord Alphonse, a pleasure indeed. Von't you take a seat?"

Lord Alphonse gave each of the armchairs in the room an appraising once-over, then started as he spotted the small boy.

"Gods! Who zher devil is zhat?" he pointed an accusatory digit. Margolotta glanced over her shoulder; Bastian was curled up in a vast, high-backed chair, dwarfed by a copy of _Twurps Peerage_, which he was peering over the top of at the visitor.

"Ah - my Lord, zhis is Bastian. He is my charge. I suppose you could describe him as my…apprentice, of sorts. At any rate, I am responsible for his upbringink and am personally tutorink him." The two of them shared an affectionate gaze, before she turned back to her guest, "Anyzhink you vish to say to me can be said in front of him."

"Good afternoon, Lord Alphonse." said the boy coolly, smiling.

"Afternoon, young sir." As a reflex, Alphonse attempted to return the smile, but couldn't suppress a shudder at the chilling…_knowledge_ of those eyes; such understanding in such an innocent face evoked the terrifying sense that Bastian knew every dirty little secret, every closet-bound skeleton, and was simply waiting for the opportune moment to share. The man was more than happy to turn back to her Ladyship.

"Von't you take a seat, Lord Alphonse?" Lady Margolotta prompted gently. The man looked a little startled.

"Vhat? Oh, yes, of course." he eased himself down, then fumbled in his waistcoat pocket.

"So, vhat on earth has concerned you so much zhat you needed to see me so urgently?"

Lord Alphonse located his handkerchief and proceeded to mop his brow, "It's zher _verevolves _again, Madam! Zhey are a little more subtle zhan before, alvays makink sure zhat zhey have alibis, zhat zhey don't leave marks or a trace of zheir crimes, but only so many experienced voodsmen can get lost in zheir own voods in a month!"

"Hmmm." Ladyship studied the anxious aristocrat for a few moments, "Zhat is a very serious accusation you are makink zhere, my Lord. Do you have any proof to back it up?"

The man did not falter, absolutely convicted, "Zhey alvays take zher stronk vones! Never zher vomen or zher children, just zher younk men and zher manual labourers - for zheir little games. So zhat zhey are a _challenge_. Blizzards and diseases are not zhat picky!" he took a breath, pausing in his torrent of earnestness, "Bugs has alvays been neutral ground betveen zher feuds of zher undead, ve are zher only functional entirely human town. But ve cannot support ourselves if zher pillars of our community keep gettink picked off by zher doggies! I implore you, my Lady, on behalf of my town, to reinforce zher _Diet_! Remind zhem of vhat zhey agreed!"

There was a silence, only broken by the flicker of a page turning from the corner of the room. Ladyship sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, sipping her…_wine_, then offering the man an apologetic grimace.

"As much as I hate to say it, Lord Alphonse, I am afraid zhere is very little I can do for you. Zher verevolves are stupid, but not vizhout cunnink; I cannot cause uproar vizhout solid evidence zhat zhey are goink back on zher treaty."

He groaned, dropping his face to his podgy hands in despair, "Zhen Bugs is lost to the verevolves! Ve are zhrough!"

"_However_," Lady Margolotta raised her voice, "Ve may be able to offer you some advice, as a totally uninterested, unbiased zhird party who have absolutely nozhink to gain from zher verevolves losink a little power. Hypozhetically, of course." she smiled radiantly as the man lifted his gaze to her again, "Bastian, vhat hypozhetical course of action vould you advise Lord Alphonse to take, in zhis situation?"

The boy did not put down his book, or even speak over the top of it; his voice was quiet, level, and a little muffled from behind its thick dog-eared pages.

"Take a holiday upriver."

Lord Alphonse gaped, then turned, incredulous, to her Ladyship, "My apologies, madam; I am sure he is a fantastic student, but you vould have zher _boy_ instruct me?"

"Perhaps it vould be best to explain yourself to Lord Alphonse, Bastian." Madam responded, quietly, gesturing that the man should sit back down. He had hardly noticed that he had gotten to his feet.

There was a barely restrained sigh from behind the book, before it was lowered. Bastian's pale cheeks were pinched in irritation, but Lord Alphonse could be surprisingly observant, and he noticed that they were tinged lightly pink, in a manner that vampires were incapable of achieving.

"Upriver of Bugs are some of the oldest dwarfen mines in Uberwald. Specifically, the old silver mines that were closed down after the _Diet_. Take a trip to the area, sightsee, and be sure to take some of the cheese that you are so famous for. It would not hurt to return with significantly less, and a rather lighter money pouch. Do you understand my suggestion?"

"You vant me to fool zher verevolves into zhinkink zhat I had made a deal vizh zher dvarfs for silver? But zhat is goink back - oh-"

"But there never was any silver, and the dwarves will deny it themselves." Bastian finished, with a roll of his eyes. The book was lifted once more, like a self-protective screen, lest idiocy should be catching.

"Zhank you for zhat, Bastian." Ladyship murmured, frowning. She stood, prompting the Lord to stand also, "It vould be most prudent if you left quickly, Lord Alphonse, as I know for a fact zhat zher Baron's son and his furry friends vere followink your carriage. Try to look irritated, to zhrow zhem off zher scent a little. If zhey ask, I vas most unhelpful. Igor, if you would escort our guest back to his carriage."

Lord Alphonse, a little dazed as he was ushered out of the room by a patchwork - for want of a more suitable word - man, trying to remember all of madam's instructions, waved vaguely as the door closed behind him.

"I cannot believe your rudeness."

"I cannot believe you put on that ridiculous accent, and pandered to him, just to make him feel _safe_." Bastian muttered from behind his book.

"Put down your book when you are speaking to me." Ladyship said calmly. It had the desired effect; Bastian's arms snapped down in an almost involuntary movement. They regarded each other coolly for a moment, before Margolotta folded her arms, "It would be pertinent to keep your disgust a little more well hidden in the future, Bastian."

"Oh _please_. I had to practically spell it out for him! It would do them some good to let them sort out their own problems, instead of just playing benevolent puppetmaster. They are so _slow_, its like…its like speaking with cattle!"

"Hold your tongue." Madam snapped, with a look of iron. Bastian lifted his chin to it.

"You said that I may say whatever I wished, provided it had sufficient and valid argument!" he retorted hotly.

"You forget your place." she said, voice level and quiet, "You forget that you yourself are _half_ human."

Her voice cut the air like a cleaver, and left a sharp silence behind.

Bastian drew breath quickly, then swallowed. Fury made him foolish, "Hardly half! I am far more vampire than human!"

"That is where you are mistaken, child. Anger, indignation and arrogance run rampant inside you. Vampires are cold and detached, but you are ruled by your emotions. In time, you will learn, but for now…" she smiled, "No, you are _very_ definitely more human. Just look at your cheeks - all flushed. That's called embarrassment. It is not something to be ashamed of - your father was human, remember."

Anger turned to bitterness and Bastian scowled, "And how should I know to be proud of this, if all I have are the barest hints, that I must chase through this ridiculous thing?" he lifted his copy of _Twurps Peerage_ and gestured with it, before tossing it to the floor.

Ladyship said nothing, but raised her eyebrows. Bastian took another breath and calmed himself, before picking up the book.

"I know you do not approve of shouting."

"If you must raise your voice to be listened to-"

"-Then what you have to say is not worth hearing." Bastian finished, his scowl still tracing his lips. "But why do you insist on spoon-feeding Lord Alphonse?"

Lady Margolotta stood, making her way to the window to observe the sunset, "Uberwald is a swirling mess of anarchy and ignorance. It cannot be controlled, it must be _steered_, and this cannot happen until there is some sense of stability. We must change, and gently weed out our more self-destructive traditions."

Bastian joined her, "That doesn't sound like a very vampiric sentiment."

She turned to him and smiled radiantly, "No, it is very human. I suppose you could say that I have been…converted."


	6. Chapter Five

"Why are we stopping, Igor?"

"You thaid to get back to the mithtreth'th cathle ath fatht ath pothible, mathter."

Bastian, head leaning out of the window, wiped the spray from his face before squinting up at the building the careering coach had stopped outside. He grimaced, "Gods, she really was serious about remodelling. What is it supposed to be, a cake?"

"My thentimentth exthactly, thir." Igor grumbled under his breath. There were certain expectations Igor had about Uberwaldian castles, and the ability look as if it could dissolve after a small shower was not one of them.

The young vampire prised himself out of the seats and staggered down to ground level, pausing a moment to let the wobbliness in his knees subside. "Err, perhaps not the ostreetas next time, Igor?" he grasped the door handle of the carriage for support.

"You _did_ thay to get you home ath thoon ath pothible, thir." Igor reminded him, a tad reproachfully. Bastian waved a hand in dismissal and lurched up the stairs to the large pink double doors, throwing them open in one sweeping movement (this earned him an appreciative clap of thunder). It was not difficult to find her bedroom; he just had to follow the trail of _chintz_. He knocked on the door and pushed it open, somewhat apprehensively.

The whole room was dwarfed by a huge double poster bed and a giant oak wardrobe, but in the corner there was a small vanity table with a classic three mirror set up. This was where Madam was sat, somewhat precariously, Bastian sensed, on the stool in front of it. She was bone thin and her skin was a painful, almost yellow hue. The only part of her that seemed healthy was her hair, which she had clearly determinedly brushed to perfection, judging by the hairbrush in her trembling hand.

"Madam!" Bastian blurted, his reactions torn between horror, anger and awe, "You have done it?"

The hairbrush was set down, and she swivelled slowly on the stool to face him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and hollow, but she offered him a weak smile, "Yes, Bastian. I have gone, as they say…_cold bat_."

The thunder clapped in approval, despite how the words cracked in her throat, and she shakily lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag, which steadied her hands. Bastian could not drag his gaze away from her eyes; there was something of a madness in them, which suggested she had been to hell and back in the few short months he had been absent. Anger flared inside of him.

"You did not tell me you were planning this."

"On the contrary, I mentioned it several times. You just incorrectly gaged my seriousness in pursuing it."

"And that was why you sent me to Genua!" he gave a sharp laugh, "I cannot believe I actually thought it was some kind of _test_. Alicia was under the impression that you were trying to set us up!"

"You spent a week with Lady Roberta Meserole, did you not?"

"Yes, she very kindly allowed us lodgings whilst we-"

Madam exhaled a blue swirl of smoke, "Then that is all the testing you require."

Bastian pinched the bridge of his nose, and sat down on the end of the bed.

"I thought I was supposed to be your _apprentice_."

"You are my apprentice, Bastian."

"Then why do you insist on leaving me out of all of your business?" he snapped, "I have seen the research too – of all the recorded cases of vampires attempting to go 'cold bat', all but one of them died. And the one that survived went insane and has spent the rest of his unlife hurtling around Uberwald in a carriage chasing lightning storms!"

There was a pause, during which Madam sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

"I did not send you away out of spite, Bastian. You must not think that." He opened his mouth to object, but she held up a hand to silence him, "No, you must listen; however much you foolishly try to run away from it, you are half human, which means you have, inside of you, human…blood." She shuddered, "I was not sure whether or not I would be able to control the horror I would become, and I could not take that risk."

Bastian's cheeks tinged pink and he studied his shoes, "You could have died," he said quietly, "That was an even greater risk."

"Bastian, I have been researching this since your… since before you were born. I know the risks."

Bastian looked up sharply; Madam always spoke with _absolute_ conviction, or at least sounded like it. "Since before my what?"

"It's nothing."

"This is to do with my parents, isn't it?"

Madam massaged her temples, "Please don't push it, Bastian."

"Why will you not tell me? You said that all I ever needed to do was ask, and you would-"

"Your mother was depressed," Lady Margolotta started brusquely, "Uncommonly so for a vampire. Your father had left her for another woman – I told her all along that he would never stay, would never be tied down – she was with child, and she did not want to live the next few centuries without the man she loved. I knew it was highly unlikely that either one of you would survive the birth, but I managed to convince her to stay alive long enough to carry you to term.

"She would not eat, she would not sleep – and she refused to drink human blood. I monitored her, and the only thing that seemed to be keeping her sane was her obsession with painting. She painted your father's face, over and over again, and when she had finished each painting, she burned it, and then would start another one.

"I soon realised that this obsessive compulsive desire to paint was the only thing keeping her alive. It had become almost a replacement for the craving of blood. Her regenerative abilities had decreased, she found it incredibly distressing to attempt simple transformations, such as changing her body mass into bats, but she was alive, and without being dependent on blood! It was revolutionary!" Madam's tired face was lit up in an uncharacteristic grin, which faded a little as she continued, "Sadly, I could not convince her to stay alive to help with this research, or even for your sake. She committed suicide shortly after you were born; we were never sure how…it was almost as if she had _willed_ herself to die."

The silence hung in the air between them.

"And you didn't tell me…why? You were afraid that I wouldn't understand? That I'd hate you for not being able to convince my mother to live for her own child?" Bastian snapped, cheeks pinched.

"You are only just seventeen, you are still a _child_, how could I expect you to-"

"I do not believe you. This…" he gestured wildly, "This…scenario is not plausible! Nobody can _will_ themselves to die! And if you genuinely meant to conceal it from me, you would have never let it slip that easily! No, I do not believe you!"

"You cannot run from this, Bastian," Madam said gently, reaching for his hands. He snatched them away and stood up.

He hissed, "I will stop running when I find out the truth."


	7. Chapter Six

The Patrician scanned the last line of the letter once more, before lowering it and fixing the young man in front of him with a stern gaze.

"Mast von Blintz," he said, after what seemed like an age, "Won't you take a seat?"

Bastian sat down on the chair, tucking his feet behind the chair legs and resting his hands in his lap. Vetinari placed the letter carefully down on the desk and pressed his steepled fingers against his lips thoughtfully.

"You wish to join the Assassins Guild."

A statement, not a question. "Yes, my Lord."

"Interesting. And, if you do not mind my asking, why?"

"I was informed that it is the very best place for young men who wish to hone their skills in all areas of the curriculum, learn the inexplicable mysteries of becoming a Gentleman, and master the art of becoming, both mentally and physically, a Disc-renowned assassin."

There was a pause. Was that amusement or disgust in his eyes? He couldn't tell. Bastian realised he was holding his breath.

"You ought to write their prospectus." Vetinari commented dryly. Amusement, then, thank gods.

Bastian had arrived in Ankh-Morpork with the express intention of…no, wowing was the wrong word, and so was impressing…

He wanted to be able to walk out of the Oblong Office, secure in the knowledge that, even as his footsteps still rang on the marble floor, Drumknott would be dutifully adding his name to the List Of People We Need To Keep A Very Close Eye On. He'd internally written a whole repertoire of intelligent remarks and observations to every question he could imagine he may be asked.

Now, in the presence of the Patrician, he just felt like a fool. Ladyship had called him arrogant and headstrong. Perhaps she was right.

Vetinari was the pantheon, the _ultimate_. Lady Margolotta had frequently waxed nostalgic about his genius and insight – and she had only been with him for a few short months, when he was barely nineteen! And now he was running the biggest, most powerful city on the Disc, and had thirty more years of wealth and life experience to share. To be noticed, to be noted by that man…that was his main aim in choosing Ankh-Morpork over any other city.

That, and his own personal crusade for the truth about his heritage (gods, he really needed to stop thinking about it in those terms. He was starting to sound like that funny little journalist Ladyship liked so much). He'd chosen Ankh-Morpork, because he had hoped – no, he could not get his hopes up like that. Not before he had facts.

"You are interested in an Ankh-Morpork education? I thought that you have already been educated extensively by Lady Margolotta von Uberwald herself."

"With all due respect, sir, there is only so much one can learn from a single source, even on as learned and experienced as her Ladyship." Bastian caught a brief glimpse of a smile twitching in the corner of Vetinari's mouth, and some of the embarrassment bubbling in his stomach receded.

Vetinari raised an eyebrow, "You would consider yourself a scholar, then?"

"I am not quite so endeared to myself to pick a title, my Lord, but I suppose that is how you could describe me."

"You seek knowledge for the sake of knowing more about the world in which you live. Very admirable for a young man." The Patrician studied Bastian's face for a few moments, before glancing back down at the letter, "You are b-total, I presume?"

"Since birth, my Lord."

"Ah, yes, Lady Margolotta's little experiment. Lord Downey does have the safety of his students to consider, however, and so his terms of your enrolment to the school include your exclusion from the disciplines which may incite any…inelegant behaviour. You may attend swordplay classes, for example, but may not carry or inhume using bladed weapons. Any action which violates these rules, voluntary or not, will result in immediate exclusion. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my Lord." Not even Madam's fury could have prepared him for the _look_ he was skewered with; Ladyship had a glare that could make mountains lie down flat. Lord Vetinari had a glare that could command flat ground to raise mountains _up_.

Satisfied that he was suitably understood, Vetinari made a gesture with his hand and Drumknott swept over with his pocket watch. The Patrician nodded and straightened the files on his desk with the tip of his finger.

"Lord Downey's representatives should be here momentarily to escort you over to the Guild. Meanwhile, are there any aspects of this arrangement that are unclear to you?"

"No, my Lord."

Again, there was that intense, burning gaze directed at him. Bastian refused to cringe under it and met the older man's eyes, determined. They were piercing blue and seemed to cut through every layer and barrier he lifted against them.

Vetinari spoke again, curtly, "Lady Margolotta informed me privately that she did not believe you were ready to leave Uberwald; she was concerned that you were too immature and arrogant to survive. In her concern, she has made me personally responsible for your safety and wellbeing." He smiled and his voice softened, "You would do well to prove her wrong."

Bastian wasn't sure whether to be hurt that Madam still did not trust him, or pleased that Vetinari seemed inclined to disagree with her, so plumped with, "I shall do my very best to, my Lord."


	8. Chapter Seven

A dark figure darted through the Assassins Guild gates, pressed itself against the courtyard wall for a few moments, before sagging and staggering over to a bench. After considerable scrubbing with a handkerchief, a pale face appeared, just visible in the dim torchlight.

"Blintz!"

The face snapped towards the sound, before relaxing and rolling its bright eyes. A wiry figure joined him on the bench and punched him triumphantly on the shoulder.

"Two passes, eh!"

"Evidently, seeing as we're both still alive…"

"We-ell, technically-"

"_Barnsby_."

Hugo Barnsby laughed, before indicating over his shoulder with his thumb, "I saw ol'-"

A scream cut the air. Both boys froze.

"That sounded like Fet-"

"_Don't_." Hugo hissed, "Could'a been anyone. Okay? Might not'a been one of us. Could'a been anyone."

There was a moment of silence. Bastian watched Hugo out of the corner of his eye; he looked worn, tired, and so very young. He cleared his throat and asked, quietly, "What were you saying?"

During his first few days in the Assassins Guild, Bastian had applied everything he'd learnt from the many tomes on psychological study he'd read back in Ladyship's library, and had made the realization that boys of this age tended to hang about in very distinct groups, and each boy in the group had their very distinct roles to fulfil. As a vampire and an older foreign student, he'd decided early on that the easiest niche for him to fill was that of the Bad Boy. It involved being sarcastic, cool and spending most of his time doing things that most boys couldn't even conceive of doing. Thankfully, something that most boys couldn't conceive of doing was reading a book for more than two minutes, so even carrying one around gave him an air of the superior. It was a fairly easy role to step into, with the added bonuses that most people were too intimidated to irritate him, and that whatever he wore and however he wore it, it automatically became _cool_ (he'd had a lot of fun with that one).

Hugo Barnsby was an interesting case. Due to the large fees, the majority of young men and women who were taught at the Assassin's Guild were the sons and daughters of high-born Dukes and Lords, or 'nobs' (this was a new term he'd discovered upon enrolling in the Guild - he'd certainly not picked it up from _Ladyship_) and acted what was considered to be appropriately nobby. He himself was apparently widely considered to be a nob by those who did not consider themselves to be nobs, but considered themselves authoritative enough to offhand the title onto others.

Barnsby was a knob, but was not a _nob_. He was a representative of a new class - the Upper Middle Class, more commonly known as Business Class. These were the people who were not Dukes or Lords; they did not have any titles, they were simply Respectable. They were not rich or high-born enough to make it into the Upper Class, but they could afford to send their children to have the best education in Ankh-Morpork without having to take out a second mortgage. It was a growing new class with many powerful members. Moist von Lipwig, Postmaster General and the Master of the Bank and Royal Mint, William De Worde - who was, technically, Upper Class, but had disinherited himself, so didn't actually count as an official nob - the editor of the _Ankh-Morpork Times_, and Sir Harry King, the self-proclaimed King of the Golden River, were just a few examples who had worked their way from the bottom up to wealth worthy of nobbery through _business_.

Hugo's family's wealth had come, rather unusually, through his mother's flair for business. She ran the largest bakery in the city, had set up a string of quaint little cafés in which one could enjoy her delicacies, and had been commissioned to work with the talented cooks of the Unseen University's kitchens on Arch-chancellor Ridcully's birthday cake three years in a row. His father mostly worked on the financial side of things, having been an accountant until Mrs Barnsby's enterprise had become so successful.

Hugo had inherited neither his mother's talent in the kitchen nor his father's head for numbers, and so he had been sent to the Assassin's Guild in the hope that the best education money could buy would bring out _something_ that he was good at.

It transpired that what he _was_ good at was climbing, scuttling, and generally manoeuvring over difficult surfaces. For the child of an incredibly proficient cook, Hugo was wiry and remarkably skinny, which helped his spider-like agility, and also possessed the kind of ruthlessness that was needed to survive a childhood's worth of bullying - ruthlessness that translated, in later life, into the fighting skills of a wildcat. If he were a girl, it would have been described as 'spunky' or 'feisty', but as there were no particularly good male equivalents, he was simply a Nutter.

As Bastian also possessed some talent in his edificeering classes and enjoyed them enough to practice it as a hobby, he'd founded a strange sort of friendship with Hugo. The boy's conversation was, admittedly, an area that needed a bit of work, and he did have a tendency to ask obvious and irritating questions, but he generally kept himself to himself and was willing to share whatever fantastic treats his mum sent in.

"Oh," Hugo swallowed, "I saw Gravid on his way back too."

"More's the pity." Bastian muttered.

"'e has a beauty of a shiner now, though, after that sucker you landed on 'im."

Bastian's face stayed perfectly impassive, "What makes you think that was me?"

"Oh, come on!" Hugo's wide grin returned, "Nobody 'ates 'im more than you!"

"So?"

"So 'e got 'it with a big bitta garlic!"

"Which means it definitely wasn't me because, as a vampire, I am unable to handle garlic. Someone was evidently trying to set me up." His face stayed impassive. Hugo lowered his voice.

"Bastian, you're only 'alf a vampire - you _like_ garlic."

A slither of a smile appeared on Bastian's face, "Gravid Rust doesn't know that, does he?"


	9. Chapter Eight

Bastian pulled his hood up and shivered in the sharp night air, leaning back against the water tank and folding his arms in an attempt to keep some semblance of warmth. He squinted out into the darkness around him, and he waited.

It was two minutes before he heard the voice.

"Good morning."

He started, "G-good morning." He could just about discern a slightly darker figure against the other shadows and there was the barely audible sound of breathing. He swallowed, "I know the truth." He stated.

The shadow's silence seemed to say, _that's nice_. Bastian felt embarrassment threaten to rise up, but pushed it away.

"I know that you're my father."

There was a pause, then the voice said, "Really." _Good for you_.

"I overheard your conversation with mother." he tried again.

"I know."

Bastian's first reaction was of indignation and shock, though he quickly reeled it in. After a few moments of internal consideration, he asked, "How much of it was true?"

Deep in the shadows, in the part of the slightly darker shadow that could have been compared to a head, the barest hint of moonlight reflected off a suddenly revealed small white surface. Bastian smiled back.

"It seems you have learnt something during your time in this city, after all." The shadow seemed to pause reflectively, "And as for your question; I believe you can predict my answer."

"I must work it out for myself. That's nothing new." A gust of particularly cruel air sped across the roof and Bastian tightened his folded arms, tucking his hands in. He fancied he saw a cloak briefly billow out in the shadows before it was caught and returned to ambiguity, but couldn't be sure.

For the first time, the shadow started a line of conversation, taking Bastian by surprise.

"When was the last time you spoke with her Ladyship?"

"I wrote her last week."

"And did you inform her you had arranged a meeting with me?"

"Not directly," Bastian rolled his eyes, "Although I am more than sure that she is aware of it."

"In which case, it is certain she knows." The shadow murmured, somewhat wryly. There was a small pause, in which both parties considered the implications and consequences of this.

"She told me she is planning a visit to the city in the next month," Bastian volunteered.

The shadow did not reply, but its silence appeared to be in the affirmative.

"You are an invaluable conversationalist." The young vampire muttered, "And I'm bloody freezing."

"This was your suggestion." The shadow pointed out calmly. Bastian pursed his lips and said nothing, drawing his cloak tighter around him and stamping his feet.

"In which case, I shall take my leave. Good-"

"Wait." Bastian stepped forwards, "When can I meet you again?"

In his mind's eye, he saw the shadow frown, "You need to concentrate on preparing for your Final Exam. You cannot afford distractions."

"After the exam, then." The shadow seemed to consult an internal schedule, then a shift in light indicated a nod.

"I shall make sure to invite your mother."

"Mother?" Bastian raised his eyebrows, "Will she-?"

The question trailed off, and he realised that the lack of response suggested the question was irrelevant.

"I need to leave." The shadow said suddenly, "I have an appointment in three hours that I need to plan for."

"Of course. Thank you for coming."

There was a silence that made Bastian wonder, for a few moments, whether the shadow had already left. Then it was broken;

"You do not need to thank me - it is your right. I'm only sorry it hasn't been able to happen sooner."

Bastian shrugged, embarrassed, "Many men in your situation would not have bothered. They would have just paid me off to avoid scandal."

There was a second flash of white in the shadows, this time at the very edge of the roof.

"I should hope you are aware by now, Master von Blintz, that I could not be grouped with 'many men'. Goodbye."

"Goodbye." Bastian called back, but this time the shadows were empty.


	10. Chapter Nine

"Mother."

The small figure in the chair did not react, flipping a page of the book on her lap nonchalantly.

Bastian raised his voice, "_Mother_."

Ladyship paused, then glanced over her shoulder, "I'm sorry Bastian, were you addressing me? What a delightful, if juvenile, little title you've come up with."

Bastian did not smile back. His mouth was set in a line, "I'd rather not play games, mother."

"Games, Bastian?" she asked sweetly, slipping a bookmark into the large tome and placing it on the coffee table, then indicating he take the seat beside her. He did not.

"Do not take me for a simpleton-"

"I do not."

"-And do not patronise me!"

"I do not intend to, Bastian, though I apologise if I come across that way inadvertently."

Bastian took a long breath; he recognised this little trick. Deprive the fire of oxygen and it flickers out. Deprive the raging zealot of his furious arguments, take away his points before he can make them, and his anger will lose strength.

"I overheard you, mother. I heard _everything_."

"Overheard what, exactly?" she asked, still smiling, although her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"I know the _truth_!"

Margolotta stood and took Bastian's hands, but he wrenched them away. She frowned.

"Bastian," she said softly, "You know that you only have to ask for the truth. You are privy to every meeting; overturn every stone; read every book; there is no use in keeping secrets. You only have to ask."

He stumbled away across the room, trembling a little, "You say that - and yet, you lied to me! Everything I know; a lie! My- my very _existence_ is one big web of lies!"

"Bastian." this time her voice was cool, "You are becoming hysterical. Please calm down and talk rationally. Even after everything I have taught you, about harnessing emotions, about controlling them, you still explode like this?"

The boy breathed harshly through his nose, then stood up straight, face perfectly composed.

"Good. What is it that you want, Bastian?"

He took another deep breath, then leant casually back against the doorframe and examined his nails, as if the former topic had never been broached, "I want to leave, _Madam_."

"That is your prerogative, and always has been." She nodded in a businesslike manner, "Where is it you would like to go?"

"Somewhere away from Uberwald," he lifted his gaze to hers and curled a lip expertly, "Everything about it is _dire_. I want to meet interesting people, I want an opportunity to learn new things without the bias of your hand. I don't want to be your puppet."

Madam lifted a heavy tome and absently flicked through it, "Hmm. What about Ankh-Morpork? You'll certainly get a new perspective _there_. Rest assured, that is one place where I have very little influence. For the moment, at least."

"And what is there in Ankh-Morpork for an ambitious young man - politics? Business? Trade?" he asked, pushing himself up straight and watching her reaction.

"The Ankh-Morpork Assassin's Guild."

"Sounds interesting," he yawned lazily, but never took his eyes from her.

"You'll receive the finest education on the Disc, everything that you'll ever need to know, told from the perspective of a human male."

"How refreshing." He smirked, "How soon can I leave?"

She snapped the book shut and placed it down with some care, meeting his gaze with a steely one of her own, "It will take a good few weeks to contact Lord Downey and organise your place, but Lord Vetinari and I were once good friends, so I am sure there will be no…issues. At any rate, as you dislike Igor's ostreechas so much, it will take you several weeks to travel there, which means it should certainly be sorted by the time you get there. Igor?"

Igor peered around Bastian into the room, "Yeth, Mithtreth?"

"Would you be a dear and pack up Master Bastian's belongings?" she smiled icily, "He's leaving."

-x-x-x-

"The young mathter ith about to leave, Mithtreth. Would you-?"

"No, Igor," Margolotta stared steadfastly out of the window, down at the coach, her back to the patchwork butler. "If I go and speak to him now, he may lose his nerve, and we certainly don't want that."

"Hith nerveth are very thtrong, Mithtreth, and I would know."

Madam said something, but Igor didn't quite catch what it was; it was somewhere between a curse and a sob, but knowing Uberwaldean, it could have been either. Or both.

"Why do I always drive them away?"

Igor heard that whisper quite clearly. He blanched, ill-equipped to be dealing with emotional women. He'd left the necessary glands in the dungeons.

"Why must I _always_ drive them away?"

"…Mithtreth?" he ventured.

The effect was instantaneous; her head snapped around to reveal blazing eyes, "Igor! Didn't you say that Master Bastian was leaving? The new school term starts in less than a month, and I shan't have him missing classes!"

Igor sagged in relief, "Of courthe, Mithtreth, I thall leave at onthe."


	11. Chapter Ten

"You didn't tell me."

His voice stayed level and pleasant, but the grip on her wrist was iron. Oh, she could have broken his fingers easily, but he was _unpredictable_ when he was angry and it was best not to provoke him further.

"Of course I didn't."

"I had a right to know, Margolotta."

…Never mind. She scoffed, "You were nineteen! You thought you were so grown up, so mature, but it would have _destroyed_ you. You would never have been able to cope."

"That wasn't for you to decide."

"But it was true, wasn't it? You can't deny that. And don't pretend that this anymore than your pride being wounded."

He said nothing. Ladyship paused and forced herself to relax. She sighed and lowered her voice to a more gentle tone.

"Havelock, you were _nineteen_; barely more than a child yourself. I couldn't thrust it upon you, you had so much ahead of you - even a fool could see that you would be patrician one day. How could I ruin such potential? Besides, I didn't think it was even possible, and I was sure that if the child did survive to full term, it would be severely afflicted. Knowledge of a child would have shaken you; losing a child would have knocked you from your feet."

"But he survived. He is a perfectly healthy, perfectly functional young man." Vetinari allowed her to slip her hand into the crook of his elbow, "And still you did not tell me."

Ladyship said nothing, but set her jaw.

"I must say, I am impressed that you managed to hide him for so long."

"Oh, I had enough power left then to hide the…more obvious signs. Afterwards, it was just a matter of starting rumours that her Ladyship had adopted the orphaned son of an unfortunate vampiress who did not survive the purging process."

Vetinari rubbed his lower lip thoughtfully with a thumb, "How much does he know?"

"How much do _you_ think he knows?"

"I know what he suspects. How much have you told him?"

"As much as I have told everyone else." She smiled somewhat ruefully, "He is very suspicious, however, and I'm fairly certain what he suspects is the truth."

"A suspicious mind is good. It'll keep him safe, should anyone ever…get wind of the situation and wish to exploit it."

There was the barest of rustles - the sort of sound only someone with supernatural hearing abilities could pick up. Lady Margolotta paused and Lord Vetinari heeded her silence.

"I can't believe he has left!" she muttered indignantly after a few moments, "After all those times that I _explicitly_ told him to always, always listen until the very _end_ of a conversation - and he's left!"

Vetinari smiled and gently touched her hand, "It seems he still has much to learn; he is only a child, after all."

"He is twenty five years old! Still a child in vampire years, yes, but he is half human too. You much exceeded him in wisdom and maturity when you were his age."

"You forget, I had considerably more life experience than he has." She relaxed as the Patrician lead her towards the chintz-filled living room, opening the door for her, "He will learn." he reassured her.

If it were committed by any other species, Margolotta's process of sitting down on the luxurious sofa would have been described as 'sagging'. As a vampire, her movements were no less elegant than a ballerina on top form. It got rather tiring after a while. She sighed and leant into his shoulder as he sat beside her. "I spoke to Herr Doktor again." she breathed.

"Ah." said Vetinari, pulling back to watch her face in carefully controlled concern, "His…inheritance."

"Bastian is mentally unstable, Havelock; the two parts of his psyche - the vampire and the human sides - are in constant conflict. On one side, he is driven by emotion and empathy and love and longs for them in return, and the other, he is cold and impartial and full of powerlust. I have done my best to teach him how to keep these issues under control but it means he is prone to sudden, violent bursts of emotion. He will certainly never be a politician."

"That is the last thing I would hope for him to become, Margolotta."

She managed a smile, "I confess, I am not disappointed either."

There was another quiet moment, in which her Ladyship examined her cuff and his Lordship watched her patiently.

"It could kill him."

Vetinari let out the breath he had been holding, "I suspected as much."

"It is why there have been so few recorded cases of vampire-human hybrids; very few can survive the strain it puts on their mental state. He could snap tomorrow, or it might never happen at all." She glanced sideways at the Patrician, "He walks the psychological razor's edge."

"Don't we all?"

"This is no time for jokes, Havelock!" She hissed, balling her fists. He placed his hands over hers in a calming gesture.

"I am not joking; it was a proposition. We both know there is only one course of action."

She said nothing, jaw set.

"_Margolotta_." he prompted sharply.

"…Yes." she murmured, "I must push him away, and push him towards you, so that he may let go of my teachings, which are about repressing and replacing, and embrace yours, which involve acknowledging and harnessing. Considering what he has heard - and not heard - tonight, I daresay it shan't be difficult."

Vetinari nodded, satisfied, then a wry smile curled his lips, "For once, I get to play 'good cop'. I'm sure it shall be…an experience."


	12. Chapter Eleven

"It's a bad habit, sneaking around on rooftops."

To his credit, Bastian barely flinched, "Runs in my family." he paused, "Bad habits, that is, not rooftops. Although we seem to have accumulated many of them, too."

Lord Vetinari stepped forwards out of the shadows, and Bastian took the chance to examine the man's face; he wished he'd inherited his father's eyes, as crimson was so _unsubtle_, but he was pleased with the cheekbones and rather glad he hadn't got the nose.

"Reports reached me that you passed your final exam."

"I did."

"Apparently the exam had to be made more difficult to compensate for your vampiric abilities."

The subtle deepening of Bastian's frown showed clearer than words his disagreement on this topic.

"It was not a well-reasoned decision. Male vampires have considerably less magical ability than females - presumably traded for the helpful talent of staying fully clothed - and this magic derives from the drinking of human blood. I am a male half-vampire b-totaller-" Bastian cut himself off with a grimace, "Good gods, I sound like a fairy tale creature - so my powers are incredibly decreased anyway; I can just about manage a few bats and the odd levitating candle, although even _that_ gives me a migraine. Superhuman strength is all well and good, but not much help when you're falling three hundred feet to your rather messy undeath…"

Vetinari raised an eyebrow, amused, "I suppose this is the moment where I pat you on the shoulder, and tell you that all that really matters is that you passed."

"That clearly _isn't_ what matters."

"Of course it isn't. This is politics. Though, I believe congratulations are still in order."

There was a brief handshake, a shoulder pat, and smiles.

"Really, mother, you are incredibly unsubtle."

"Really, Bastian, you do dress like a schoolboy." the vampiress responded smoothly, by way of retaliation, as she slipped out of the shadows.

"That would be because I am one, mother dear."

"You've grown awfully fond of that phrase." she scoffed and shook her head, "And look at your hair! Latest Ankh-Morpork fashion, I suppose?"

Margolotta was surprised by how quickly the boy came to the defence of the city.

"At least Ankh-Morpork _changes_ its fashion once in a while. Uberwald can never progress if it stays so stuck in its ways with tradition."

She sighed. "Good gods, its like having two of your father."

Vetinari looked distinctly smug, "The boy does have a point."

"And this is a matter we have debated for _decades_, we do not need to bring it up now." she turned away from the Patrician and gave her son a bright smile, "I do like the suit, however - you ordered from the tailor I suggested; Mr Bespoke? Ghastly's work is truly magnificent. Finest Assassin's Black, perfectly fitted. It came as no surprise, of course, that you passed with almost full credit."

Bastian accepted her open-armed invitation, laughing over her shoulder, "Hugs? You're getting soft, mother."

"I have fears of that myself," Margolotta admitted, pulling back, "Pastor Oats has found me a new apprentice - I shall have to be doubly strict with him, to make up for my lapse with you."

"Replacing me soon? I am hurt, mother, truly." Bastian placed a hand over his heart, giving a mock-grimace.

"Who is he?" Vetinari asked, touching his son's shoulder to lightly restrain his small attack of silliness. Margolotta considered the statement for a few moments, before answering.

"His name is Nutt." She added after a small hesitation, "He's an orc."

"An orc?" the eyebrows of both men lifted in surprise. Bastian responded first, the mirth gone from his face, "I have every faith in your abilities, mother, but isn't an orc a bit of a…lost cause?"

"He may be, but don't you think he deserves the chance to decide that for himself?" she shot him a significant look and he lowered his head sheepishly to it.

There was a short, comfortable pause in the conversation. Bastian emerged from his train of thought to break it, turning to his father.

"You knew about me the whole time, didn't you? But you had to come across as more sympathetic, so that I would be able to move on and work everything out for myself." He shook his head, "Oh, it seemed so _complicated_ at the time, and yet in hindsight, it is all glaringly obvious."

"Unfortunately, that is how life works." said Margolotta. "If we had been given a choice," she continued, "That is not what we would have chosen for you."

Vetinari nodded, "Every other option would have lead to a small scale Morporkian-Uberwaldian war at some point in the future, and ultimately both in ruin. This way gave you the opportunity to establish your own identity without being suffocated by the shadows of powerful parents."

Both watched as Bastian considered their words, running a thumb across his lip and studying a far-off spot in the midnight sky. He finally returned to them with a small, rueful smile. "And the price of this was a family. No - I am not complaining." he grinned, "I daresay if I had grown up with both parents, I would have become very spoilt indeed."

"What are you planning on doing now you have graduated?" Margolotta prompted.

"I really don't know," he shrugged, "I think I'll go back to Genua. I liked Genua."

Bastian turned and walked towards the edge of the roof. Vetinari and Margolotta exchanged a glance.

"You're leaving now?"

"Why not? I'm making the most of having no ties!"

"Very wise, I'm sure." Vetinari responded, unable to restrain a certain curling of the lips.

With a grin and shoulders that seemed lighter than they had been for years, Bastian von Blintz sauntered to the very edge of the building and turned around.

"I'll write and tell you how Great Aunt Roberta reacts." he called.

And he stepped backwards.

After a few seconds that seemed to last a lifetime, a column of bats swarmed up and spiralled out into the night. Lady Margolotta let out a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding.

"I hate it when he does that."


	13. EPILOGUE

In Ankh-Morpork, a shadow flickered.

The shadow detached itself from the general gloom and slipped around the doorway, before slinking up the side of the building. It rippled across the rooftops and down drainpipes. The shadow swept across the city to the outer wall and onto it, before dropping neatly into the blacker-than-black hearse-style carriage on the other side.

"Nice entranthe, thir."

The shadow waved a hand impatiently and sunk into the seats, "Yes, yes, Igor. Let's go."

"I mutht thay, thir, I wath very imprethed by-"

"_Igor_."

"Yeth, thir. Of courthe, thir."

When the coach arrived in Uberwald, it was raining. It was also only three days later. The shadow prised itself out of the seats, out of the door, and staggered around a bit.

"…Igor?"

Igor hobbled down from his seat, "Yeth, thir?"

The shadow clutched its head, "What exactly are these…horses made from?"

"Bred from othtriches and cheetahth, thir."

"I'm not going to ask."

"Probably a good idea, thir."

The shadow swayed on the spot for a moment, before shaking it off and heading decisively up the castle steps. The door opened (with a creak, of course) as a fist was raised to knock, and, lo and behold, Igor was on the other side.

The shadow pushed past, just as Ladyship swept into the hallway. She smiled radiantly.

"You've got a little something…" she gestured to her cheek. The shadow scrubbed at its face, and became Havelock Vetinari.

"Igor's horses…" he began.

"Ah yes, I was very impressed - a return trip to Ankh-Morpork, completed within a week? Revolutionary work."

"Perhaps it is unwise to release them upon the world just yet. I think I may be the first person on the disc to experience a kind of…travel sickness."

"Ah. Perhaps a little less cheetah, then."

"Indeed." the word bordered on a groan and was accompanied by a touch to the temples.

"I trust, apart from that minor…discomfort, that it was a pleasant trip?"

"It was, thank you," he folded his arms, "I do hope you're not _stalling_, Madam?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Havelock," she purred, "This way, please."

She swept back across the hallway and lead their way up a winding staircase - spiral of course - adorned with various portraits of regally vampiric ancestors and predecessors. Ladyship examined each one idly as she passed them. Havelock did not.

"You're nervous," he pointed out, "You seek to distract your mind from the object of your anxiety by focusing on trivialities."

"You're terrified," she countered, "Facial expression, body language and voice control you have down to a fine art, but you still cannot stop that little heart from beating so _fast_."

"I cannot deny my…concern. Surely it is natural?"

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled widely at him, the moonlight glinting obligingly off her pointed incisors, despite the fact that it was pouring with rain and overcast. And that there were no windows in that particular passageway.

"I find it very endearing. I have never seen you scared before."

"It is a privilege known only to a few." he replied sarcastically.

The stairs met a long corridor, a distinctly more homely and practical looking section of the castle. She gently pushed open the first door; the interior was decorated in what Havelock, in his amusement, internally dubbed as 'nursery gothique', a style that somehow managed to combine cornflower blue, black, and assorted appropriately gothic spikes and swirls and bat-like patterns, without being tacky or dangerous. He was impressed.

A vast bassinet dwarfed one corner of the room in deep blue silks and drapes, lined by frills that carefully emphasized adorability, whilst still being distinctly masculine. It was a work of art that would make the most stern-hearted interior designer sob.

"Impressive décor, Madam."

"Ah, yes, a wonderful fellow from Quirm did it for me," she beamed, "Decorating is not his area of expertise, but he has such potential, I am sure he will go far in whatever he finally settles on doing."

"I should like to meet him."

"I shall certainly arrange for that."

There was a lull in the conversation. Both parties, of seemingly mutual spontaneity, crossed the room to the crib. At first glance, Havelock saw only neatly embroidered blankets and a small mountain of pillows and soft toys (all in cornflower blue, of course, with the black bat-like pattern), but a closer look revealed a small child curled between them. As if sensing their presence, he rolled onto his back and opened his startling crimson eyes, before waving his chubby fists and burbling fussily.

Havelock watched him, strangely fascinated, "He is a full vampire?"

"I haven't had long to ascertain, but yes, it appears so. With his dual heritage, his aging process will be…somewhat complicated."

"I thought so. It shall be interesting to observe." he nodded, peering down between the blankets.

She smiled, then bent over the cot, disentangling the child and passing him to Havelock in a single smooth movement, "Here."

Havelock hadn't encountered many babies in his lifetime; specifically, three, two of which he'd held, until the point that he made his speculations about their bouncibility public, after which they'd been hastily taken back. He'd always considered infants to be a somewhat fragile, temporary and rather dull distraction, as there was very little that one could do with them besides coo or complain.

This child, in comparison, seemed far more solid and resilient, lighter than he'd expected but soft and smelling of that baby-scent capable of turning the most stoic knees weak. The baby shifted and curled against his chest, regarding him coolly, as if to say, _really, was this all you woke me up for?_

To his horror, the best he could come up with to say was, "…Huh."

"Very eloquent, Havelock."

"If I'd known eloquence was what you wanted, I would have composed a sonnet," he retorted, concentration focused on moving his arms to a more comfortable position without dropping or maiming the baby, rather than coming up with witty retorts.

He'd read up what young men usually felt when presented with their first child; first, a flood of warm fuzzy feelings. Then a sudden a bolt of inspiration, of understanding of life, the universe and everything, and why toast always lands butter side down. And then, of course, they would go weak at the knees at the thought that _this was their child_.

He was rather relieved that worst he experienced was the insuppressible desire to grin. The corners of his lips curled up further as the child reached out to grasp one of his fingers in a chubby fist. "What's his name?"

"Bastian." Lightning forked just outside the window, in a rather impressive display of pathetic fallacy. Both Vetinari and Margolotta nodded appreciatively.

"Good name." He paused, glancing at the woman beside him, "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for-"

She gave him a warm smile, "I exactly didn't give you much notice. It wasn't your fault."

Havelock looked back down Bastian, who had decided to go back to sleep, and his eye caught a bright crimson stain across the wooden floor, partly concealed by a rug. He kicked it aside and followed the trail back to the large four poster bed in the middle of the room. Margolotta observed his line of inquiry and grinned almost sheepishly when he turned back to arch an eyebrow at her.

"The maid." she explained, "In my defence, she attacked _me_ first."

Havelock's eyes narrowed a little in thought, "What was her name?"

"Well done, Havelock, I see you haven't lost your touch," She folded her arms with a laugh, "She told me her name was Annette von Blintz, but anyone who knows their Uberwald genealogy would recognise a Harker nose when they saw it."

"A vampire hunter undercover; their little cult are starting to get more bold." Havelock shook his head, "I interrupted you - do carry on."

"I cannot condemn them - we have never treated their species very well either. It is only natural that they wish to fight back. Besides, it makes for good entertainment."

He could not restrain a small grin, "That's a new line of thought."

"But of course." She couldn't help preening a little under his praise, "Can you work out how she met her untimely demise?"

"Well, she was sent by her family to go incognito and assassinate you in your own castle. She must have been delighted to find out that she could get two birds with one stone, as it were, and would have written home right away - if it weren't for that coincidental succession of terrible Uberwaldean winter storms that lasted for several months, which stopped dead the already rather temperamental Uberwald post. But she decided to go on with the plan, and attacked you in your weakest moment…" he glanced down at the sleeping Bastian, "Which you were well prepared for, and you sent her back to her family as the ultimate example of tragic irony. Correct?"

"In all but the last; I was merciful and merely killed her."

"We really do have progress." And he smiled at her in a way that never ceased to make her unbeating heart soar.

"How long can you stay?" she asked quietly, stepping a little closer and playing with Bastian's fingers as he slept.

"Well, I am _officially_ on a contract in the lovely little town of _Kraße-Lügen _for the eminent Lady Toga Mortal." he kept an admirable poker-face, "So, I will be stuck in deepest darkest Uberwald for as long as she should desire I stay…"

"_Mein gott_, Havelock! Sometimes your nerve shocks even me." She grinned, shaking her head, "You are very lucky that none of your little friends speak Uberwaldean."

"Also, that none of them are particularly adept at anagrams." he chuckled, "You know, I am tempted to write Aunt Roberta, just to see her reaction. She would _kill_ me."

"Kill _you_? Hah! _I _would be the one waking up in the middle of the day with her standing over my coffin, sharpened stake and kukri knife in hand!"

"You two are old friends, though."

"That just makes it worse; I was warned to stay _away_ from you! She is more protective of you than you realise."

"If she told you to leave me alone, why did you ignore her?" he asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Brainy is the new sexy, darling," she winked and touched his cheek, "And you know I can't resist a pretty face. Now there are two of you to torment me."

Lord Havelock Vetinari shook his head with a smirk, glancing down at the child in his arms, "Bastian, son of an human assassin and a vampire, of both Ankh-Morpork and Uberwald; he has hardly been alive a week and already he has had an attempt on his life. I'd say that bodes well."

Lady Margolotta rested her head on his shoulder, "He has a bright future ahead of him."

"Yes, a bright future indeed." he agreed.

-x-x-x-

And overhead, the weather, ever obliging, cleared itself of the thunderclouds to show the brand new day dawning.


End file.
